


Begging Angels for a Sin

by TheShorty



Series: When the Stars Come Out [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I started this on a dare, Jesus Christ alive and dead, Kinda there's only one bed trope but kinda not?, POV Male Character, Pining, Single POV, The Slowest Burn I've Ever Written, These two end up in sickbay too much, also the longest fic I've written to date, and these characters got away from me, don't be shocked when Pike gets angsty, thank Killer since it's her birthday present, the man is made of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-25 05:16:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20371312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShorty/pseuds/TheShorty
Summary: Happy Birthday, KillerManatee! I'm so happy I get to write this for you. You've been an amazing friend to me over the last year, even from halfway across the world, and I don't think you know how much I appreciate you.





	1. Influx

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Killermanatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/gifts).

> Happy Birthday, KillerManatee! I'm so happy I get to write this for you. You've been an amazing friend to me over the last year, even from halfway across the world, and I don't think you know how much I appreciate you.

“Ensign… Tilly, is it?”

A mass of red curls whipped around, sticking to her lipgloss when she snapped her head up from where it was buried in a PADD.

“Uh…” her tongue lapped short licks at her lips before she blew a quick, soft raspberry trying to disentangle the strands. His own mouth tightened to suppress a grin, but he couldn’t stop the edge from quirking up as she finally pulled a hand from where it was frozen against the touchscreen to pull her hair away from her face. “Yes sir. I’m… I’m Ensign Sylvia Tilly.” She goes to stand, wide blue eyes never leaving his face.

He stopped her with a gentle shake of his head, then tilted it toward the empty seat across from her. “May I?”

“Of… of course, Captain. You can sit where ever you want. You’re… you’re the captain. Of the ship. Of two ships, actually. Maybe more? I didn’t get a good look at your file while it was on screen.” Her hands, now in motion, illustrated both her speech and, he suspected, her emotional state.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the conundrum she created for herself.

Chris considered the question. “I can’t say I’ve thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right. I am the captain of the Enterprise and the Discovery currently, at least in name. Does it count, though, since the Enterprise is docked for repairs?”

“Did Starfleet give someone else orders to take over command while you were away?”

“Not to my knowledge… and I hope I would have been the first to know.” Her giggle pulled the edge of his mouth upwards again, and a place much deeper as well. He pushed that thought aside quickly.

Tilly tilted her head, propping her chin on a hand as if in deep thought. “Then I think it’s safe to say you’re still their captain… Captain.”

“I suppose I am, then. That’s going to be a long introduction when we meet other ships, if I follow ‘Fleet introduction protocol. Christopher Pike, Captain of the USS Enterprise—currently docked some lightyears back—and Discovery—the vessel you’re currently looking at.”

This time, Tilly’s giggle was met with a small chuckle of his own, and he couldn’t resist teasing her if only to keep her smiling for another few minutes. “And just imagine, you would have broken the very authoritative pinky of the captain of two ships. How embarrassing.”

Christopher wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully at her despite his serious Captain face, and her giggle turned into full-blown snorting laughter.

“What are you working on there, Ensign?” He picked up a bite off his tray as her laughter slowed, looking over his fork between her and her PADD expectantly.

Tilly’s eyes grew wider—a feat Chris wasn't sure was even possible—before she shyly stuttered out a response. “Oh, uh, well… um, so I don’t know if you know about Lt. Commander Stamets but he…” her voice dropped to a whisper and she leaned forward, prompting him to tilt forward in his chair as he swallowed another bite, “requested a transfer to Vulcan.”

Her whisper needed a bit of work, but luckily there wasn’t anyone around to really hear her.

“Ah. Yes, I’m aware of that… request. So you’re…” Christopher waved his fork in a circle towards her PADD as he again leaned back into his seat, leaving the question open for interpretation.

“Oh, yes. I’m, uh, testing the possibility of an integrated bioneural AI as a replacement for the Lieutenant Commander. Something that could… learn the mycelial network a little at a time initially—unfortunately—since it won’t have the reaction time of a living being, but that has the capability of extrapolating as it goes, which would in turn decrease the time it needs to learn larger swaths of the network in subsequent jumps.” The Captain watched, his lunch forgotten, as her hair bounces, her hands flying and eyes shining as her excitement built in sharing her ideas. “I’m wondering if finding a way to integrate the bioneural aspects will improve the receptivity of the mycelial network, since it seems to accept the tardigrade and the human so easily, allowing easier passage and faster data throughput somehow.”

When she finally must take a breath, the young woman appeared overcome again by more than just the shyness that marked their initial interactions, judging by the light pink tint to her cheeks and throat and the way she was now biting her lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Captain.” She says, quiet in a way she hadn’t been thus far in their time together.

It was his turn to furrow his brow. “What for, Ensign?”

She didn’t answer verbally, just waved her hands in the air towards her face and over her shoulder with an exasperated look, the blush on her face deepening, before she tentatively set them in front of her on the table.

Christopher Pike fisted his free hand under the table, willing his anger to stay in his hands and not cross his face. It wasn’t her fault that someone, at some point in her life, was such a monumental asshole that she felt the need to apologize for being excited about… well, anything, really.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ensign. Never apologize for showing your passion. To me or anyone else.” His fist relaxed. Watching her face carefully, he reached across and laid it softly across her own. Tilly inhaled sharply at his touch, but didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, she met his gaze again. “Our passions help make us who we are. It takes bravery and courage share yourself so openly with those around you. Never apologize for that.”

“Especially to me.” Christopher added softly. A gentle pull of his fingers against the back of her hand, and he withdrew to gather his tray.

When he ran out of things to collect, he tossed a smile, casual but genuine, at his dinner companion.“Well, you definitely saw my F in astrophysics, so I’m not sure I can be much help in this one… but I look forward to hearing how the testing goes and what you find out. If there’s something you think I can help with… you know, not astrophysics-related… please let me know, Ensign.”

A toothy smile filled the young woman’s face. “Thank you, Captain.”

With a quick wink, he pushed away from the table and headed toward the disposal wall.


	2. Care

Why is the searing red heat always portrayed at blinding white light? Nothing was blinding or white right now. Chris doubled over as best he could while lying on his side on the biobed, the world blazing red and crisp around the fire pulsing from his side.

The world tilted as he was pushed roughly onto his back, but he couldn’t see by whom. All he could focus on was the pain in his chest and how hard it was to keep from yelling.

“I need 10 mils terakine and 5 of anesthizine.”

Dr. Pollard. That’s who was pushing him backwards. The hiss of pressure was a cold brand against his throat, and he didn’t know whether to push into the comforting metallic chill or recoil from the discomfort of the pressurized heat. In the end, he let out a strangled whimper as the weight of fuzzy darkness finally fell over him.

* * *

“Fuck.”

“Good to have you back, Captain.” Dr. Pollard’s face came into view above him, blocking out the bright exam lights so he could crack an eye open towards her.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “wasn’t cursing _at_ you.” He curled up—attempted to curl up—into a sitting position, but was stopped quickly by the pain. Not just in his side, now, but across his torso and hips, shoulders and thighs. “Feels like I got hit by a type 2 shuttle at full speed.”

Icy chills spread from his throat, leaving goosebumps down his arms as the medication absorbed, and he relaxed into the fog once again.

* * *

Movement—ruckus, really—in the next biobed over woke Chris from his medication induced slumber. Turning his head, he saw the tumble of red curls over the end of the biobed. His heartrate spiked suddenly, the burning in his chest tripled from the sudden change. It might have doubled him over, again, if he wasn’t too concerned with the patient beside him to care.

“Metorapan now, max dose.” Dr. Pollard barked at the nurse as the medical team continued to work on the inert woman.

“She’s unconscious, Doctor, I don’t think pain…” the nurse hesitated, his hands hovering over the hypo cannisters.

The glare Dr. Pollard gave the (soon to be demoted, if Chris had any say about it) nurse should be in the dictionary next to ‘looks that can kill’. Grabbing a syringe, she slammed it in the hypo and pressed it against Tilly’s neck. “She won’t be once I give her animazine and tri-ox. Figured it would be a good thing to, yanno, pre-medicate her for the searing pain she’ll probably feel from being whacked in the gut with dark matter. But what do I know, I’m just a doctor.”

The nurse, rightfully, scurried away with his head down, eyes averted.

“Ten cc’s tri-ox and forty of animazine.” The second nurse held out two prepared hypos.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Dr. Pollard's smile was grim at best. “At least one of you has paid attention this past year. Go ahead. I’ll check the scan results. Have more metorapan on hand in case she needs it. Sedate her if she needs more than 2 additional doses, but not until the cortical scan is done.” At the curt nod from the nurse, both women turned back to their work—Dr. Pollard to the console across the room and the nurse to the beeping at the head of the bed.

The remaining few team members finished connecting Tilly to a series of complicated-looking machines and wandered away.

Chris caught one—a young Bolian—as they passed. “What happened to the ensign?” His voice sounded steadier than he currently felt, between concern for the woman next to him and his own pain.

The crewmember cast a furtive glance to the bed next to them, hesitant.

“I am the captain, I’m going to find out eventually. Now, tell me what happened to my ensign.” If it wouldn’t have practically killed him, he would have sat up. It tended to help with the whole commanding thing. Instead, he fixed the young woman with the hardest glare he could muster until words spilled, rapid fire, from his target.

“She was apparently getting a sample from the dark-matter asteroid in the cargo bay, and when the first sample piece didn’t make it into the holding cannister, she kept going despite the computer’s warning to stop. She managed to get a second, larger, sample into the anti-grav chamber but it released some kind of energy pulse—we’re assuming of dark matter but we’re not actually sure—that slammed her into some of the cargo boxes stored there. It knocked her unconscious, she’s got some organ damage, a busted eardrum, and other random scrapes and bruises.” The poor crewmember had turned even bluer by the end of her recantation of events, having chosen to get it all out in one breath.

A deep sigh escaped as the story churned in his head. The crewmember shifted from one foot to the other from her spot near the end of his bed, bringing Chris’s attention back to her long enough to be absentmindedly thanked and dismissed.

Movement from the bed next to him caught his eye. The first twitch of her hand was soon full-body shudders and moaning and tears streaking down her face from beneath closed eyes. The moans turned to whimpers after two additional doses of analgesic, but the tears never stopped. The nurse—an unusually light Andorian with a kind face, her hair cut short and pulled away from her antenna with a series of clips that should have looked uncomfortable but somehow didn’t —talked steadily to the distressed in a soft, calming voice, stroking her hands across her forehead and pushing her hair back much like a mother would her child.

Chris levered himself out of bed, gritting his teeth against the agony in his chest, and shuffled to Tilly’s side.

“Captain, I don’t think…” The nurse—the competent nurse (he apparently needed to brush up on his medical staff's names)—began, but was silenced immediately.

“I’ll take a chair if you have one, Lieutenant. How much longer until you can sedate her?”

A stiff-backed chair, rarely used by the looks of it, appeared beside him and strong hands supported him as he eased into it. A hypo pressed against him, and he jerked away with a grunt.

“No sedative, just a mild painkiller to take the edge off,” she reassured him. “I can’t have you hurting yourself further on top of everything else.”

He nodded once. “How long?”

Nimble fingers squeezed his shoulder. “The scan will take a few minutes, longer if I can’t keep her still. But she needs to be conscious for this one because it tests neural functioning for any long-term damage.”

She began to walk away from him, but stopped long enough to give one more suggestion. “She is conscious, can hear you, if you want to talk to her. A familiar voice, comforting touch from someone she trusts and cares about and who cares about her in equal measure, may help calm her down and keep her still enough to complete the scan.”

Chris looked at her in astonishment.

“You’re…uh… you’re part Aenarian?” he eventually stuttered out. He could only imagine what his emotional turmoil felt like to the empathic woman but was also impressed at the strength it took to work with the unfailing calm he’d witnessed around such chaotic emotions. She smiled conspiratorially at him before walking away from the bed, leaving him alone with Tilly.

He raised his hand, hesitated on where to place it, before settling on her shoulder. Comforting but not too intimate. His thumb began a soft rhythm back and forth across the hem of the short sleeve, swiping down onto her warm skin then up onto the fabric. “Look where your curiosity got you this time, Ensign.” He began to talk to the young woman about their away mission to the planet, keeping his voice intimately muted and calm despite the knot in his belly and the pain in his chest.

Tears continued trickling down her face, her breath hiccupping in her chest, and he couldn’t resist wiping some away, cupping her cheek as his thumb swiped across her cheekbone. “I know it hurts, Tilly. You’re doing great, though. Shouldn’t be too much longer until they can sedate you, and hopefully you won’t remember any of this.” Her lashes fluttered as if she was waking more fully.

“Nurse!” Chris called, slight panic edging into his voice as he pulled his hand away from her face. He didn’t mean to rouse her. The Andorian woman and the incompetent man both appeared rather quickly. “I think she’s coming to. Can we sedate her yet? I don’t think this is something we want her remembering.”

Dark eyes scanned the console behind the bed. “The scan has a few more minutes. I’ll give her a dose of triptacederine. Hopefully that will keep her for the last few minutes. I’ve got her neurozine ready; as soon as the scan is done, I’ll sedate her, Captain, I promise.”

Chris returned to his steady rhythm against her shoulder, talking to her once again as the nurses milled around him. “Hear that, Tilly? You’re almost done, then you can rest. Just a few minutes more. You’ve done well, Ensign, just a few minutes more.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Minutes felt like an eternity. Finally—blessedly—Lt. Sreptak (he finally heard someone say her name and committed it to memory to put a positive note into her file) sedated Tilly. “She shouldn’t remember anything, as she was only conscious enough for the scan and not fully awake. But this should knock her back out so she can rest. We’re going to move her to the surgical bay next to fix the organ damage. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“You should rest now, Chris.” Dr. Pollard materialized beside him. “Let’s get you back in your own bed, and some pain meds of your own. Thank you for your help with Ensign Tilly, but there’s nothing you can do now but focus on yourself.”

Chris tried to rest in the uncomfortable biobed and let the pain medication fuzz his brain. He only half-succeeded on both accounts. The other half of him stayed on alert, listening for anything that might indicate issues in the surgical bay.

It was only once he could see the shock of red hair safe on the bed beside him after surgery, her face smoothed in the relaxation of deep (medicated) sleep, that he could finally do the same.

* * *

Hours later, he watched as Dr. Pollard administered a third dose of medication, talking softly to the young woman who was finally awake but obviously in significant pain. She finally settled, her panting breaths evening out.

He was finishing his final round of osteoregeneration, and they were moving the dermal regenerator over him. “Just the worst of the burns, please. No need to pretend like I’m in pristine condition.”

Commander Vanis, the nurse who had redeemed himself enough that Chris didn’t immediately think of him as ‘the incompetent one’, gave him a strange look before turning to the screen above his head.

“You should be pristine. Isn’t that part of, I don’t know, captain mandates or something? That they all be in perfect working order, lest they be promoted to admiral?” The lilting—if slightly slurred—voice of Ensign Tilly surprised him.

“Possibly, but I’m not known for following the rules. Or for being up for an admiralty.” He focused on keeping his breathing even as the dermal regenerator pushed across his tender skin.

“You shouldn’t need a dermal regenerator anyways… you aren’t supposed to put yourself in danger.” She continued rambling, unaware Chris had actually responded.

“Well, it seems like we’ve both had an exciting day, Ensign. Even captains get them on occasion.” He watched in amusement from the periphery of his gaze as the young woman seemed to realize—if the sudden convulsive swallowing and slight gasp of air were in any indication—that not only could he hear her but was responding as well.

“Captain…” she responded, then paled as her head twitched lightly.

“Everything okay?” Chris questioned, waving Vanis towards Tilly as she muttered in barely registering tones.

Tilly muttered under her breath so softly he could barely understand her. “…head killing… throwing up… slammed with dark matter is hard...” That seemed to take whatever energy she had left, left her breathing slowly for a long few minutes with her head pressed against the top of the biobed.

“Noted. A phaser does something very similar to your ribs, as I’m now intimately aware.” He chuckled at himself, then added, “I would advise we try to avoid these scenarios in the future.”

Still pale, her eyes closed and breathing very carefully, she began to tell Chris about Commander Saru visiting her earlier, while he took the time to study her carefully for anything that may need the doctor to be called again.

He doesn’t remember seeing the Commander, which means it had been while he was in the restroom and then getting fitted for the rib support brace. Chris responded with what he hoped was captain-appropriate conversation to her ramblings about taking care of herself and him needing to do the same, but his mind was too busy cataloguing her breathing and color, watching them even out toward normal, to really pay attention to their conversation.

They lapsed into comfortable silence for another half-hour before Dr. Pollard came between them with his dismissal instructions. “Rest, and pain medication that I’ve programmed into your replicator should you need it. Call me if you feel worse or change your mind about the dermal regeneration.” She held his outstretched hand, acting as counterweight as he carefully lifted himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “We did the best we can on your ribs, but you’re going to be sore for a while. You’re off duty for the next 36 hours, when you’ll need a recheck and _hopefully_ be cleared. Push yourself too hard, and you’ll be off longer than that.”

He stood over Tilly one last time before exiting the bay.

“You’re standing up, Captain. I… am not. Upright, that is.” A smile quirked at the side of his mouth. He could now, quite clearly, imagine Tilly when she drank. “And! I really like your dimples.”

Chris struggled to keep a straight face. “Thank you. I got them from my father. They don’t seem to help me stay upright, though.”

“I’d imagine not. Probably have helped you get horizontal many times, though.” A blush darkened her face as he laughed out loud. “Wow. I did *not* mean for that to come out of my mouth.”

Softly, he cupped her shoulder then ran his thumb across the hem, much as he’d done hours earlier. “The Commander was right, Ensign. You are important.” He surprised himself as he leaned down until he could smell the bright citrus of her shampoo, a few fuzzy hairs tickling his nose as he pressed his lips softly to her temple. “To more people than you may realize.”

A completely paternal, captainly gesture, of course.

He glanced around, relieved that no one was around except Lt. Sreptak, who stood with her back to them, surreptitiously giving them privacy he didn’t realize they needed.

Tilly giggled, her eyes glued to his face with a mix of confusion and wonder as he stood beside her. He adjusted his jacket once more and smiled down at the red angel of an entirely different nature before him. “Take care of yourself, Ensign Sylvia Tilly. That’s an order.”

A slurred but enthusiastic “yes sir!” followed him out of the medical bay.


	3. Friends(...?)

The chimes took him by surprise. Chris wasn’t expecting anyone. He wasn’t yet cleared to return to active bridge duty by Dr. Pollard yet, so he’d been confined to desk duty in his ready room. When he couldn’t handle being confined by reading reports and returning messages anymore, he’d retired to his room for dinner and… something restful.

What restful activity was going to appear, he didn’t know. Maybe the chimes were a sign from the gods. Except that he was in the shower.

“Computer, who’s at my door?”

“Ensign Sylvia Tilly is currently at your door, Captain,” the dry voice pinged back immediately.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

“Heart rate is elevated, otherwise all vitals appear normal. There is no obvious bleeding or injury. The ensign was released from medbay 4.35 hours ago by Dr. Pollard with orders for bedrest.”

“Computer, close the bedroom doors, let her in and tell her I'll be with her shortly.” He tilted his head to wash the conditioner from his hair. “And tell her to sit down,” he said absently, an afterthought as the warmth washed over him. A double beep was his only confirmation.

He finished his shower perfunctorily—or at least, as perfunctorily as he could given the pull and pain across his chest—before stepping out and drying off quickly. Chris checked that his bedroom door was closed before stepping into his bedroom to throw on a t-shirt soft enough to not irritate the healing scars across his ribs and some loose sweatpants. Comfortable and casual. They were off-duty, and he hoped she wasn’t visiting as his subordinate… but even if she was, this wasn’t completely inappropriate dress. He would have been in something similar whether he had been in the shower or not. A last quick check in the mirror to make sure nothing was… clinging… inappropriately, a final swipe of the towel through his hair, and he made his way out to his sitting room.

“Sorry to make you wait, I wasn’t expecting a visitor." The sight of Tilly on his couch was unexpected, despite knowing she would be there. The young woman perched at the edge of his couch, looking tense and pale. Which was… impressive, considering her normal coloring. "Is everything okay? Are you alright?” Chris tried for neutral and failed, and could only hope she didn’t mistake the sharpness in his voice for anything other than concern. 

“...'m okay.” Syl's response was two mumbled words. Not really inspiring confidence in her response.

“You don’t look okay. A little pale. Maybe a little green around the gills.”

She grasped the arm of the couch a little more tightly when she moved her head to look at him. “I never understood that saying, you know? Most of the time when people get really nauseated, their whole face turns green, not just their neck where our evolutionary gills were. I… uh… got a little dizzy on the turbolift coming up here.”

“Ah. Makes sense, given the head injury. Acceleration, deceleration, and a concussion aren’t the best trifecta.” She looked small, sitting on his couch as he towered beside her, hovering over her while they talked.

“Mmm.” Less words wasn’t a good sign, especially from young woman sitting on his couch.

Chris sat beside her, close enough to catch her if needed. “Sit back.” He prompted gently. “Relax. It’s okay. You’re okay. Can I get you something? Water? Crackers? When’s the last time you ate?”

Tilly didn’t move, just tightened her hand against the armrest until her knuckles blanched. He waited, trying to be patient, to give her space despite his own rising anxieties as he watched her take measured breaths in and out. Slowly, her muscles loosened, and she became less green, but still didn’t relax back.

Placing his hand on her knee, he squeezed gently and dropped his voice into a more subdued version of what Number One called his “captain voice”. “Tilly. Scoot back on the couch now.”

With the first shift of her hips, he pulled his hand from her knee. He nodded (mostly to himself) when she collapsed into the cushion. “Good, that’s good. I’m going to get you some water. Would you like crackers?”

Her red hair appeared to vibrate with the small, almost twitchy shakes of her head in response, but she didn’t make a sound. Tilly’s utter lack of words was starting to scare him.

“No crackers yet. Got it.” He rose and crossed to the replicator, ordering three drinks—one water with ice and one without for Tilly, and a tea for himself. He studied her again while he waited for the machine to finish the order, debating whether to call Dr. Pollard or not or, hell, just transport them both back to sickbay.

Her head now rested against the back of his couch, eyes closed, hair fanned out behind her, throat exposed in a long line above the collar of her jacket, rippling as she clenched her jaw. Her hands clasped together on her lap, twisting onto one another slowly, her thumbs grazing against one inner wrist then the other in what he surmised to be a calming ritual. As he watched, he noticed the synchronization of her hands and her breathing. As she inhaled, she twisted her hands to the left, running her right thumb over her left inner wrist; on her exhale, she reversed the movement.

The soft beep of the replicator startled him from his examination.

Carefully, he carried their three drinks to the coffee table. Pike cleared his throat softly at his approach, then set them down with a gentle thunk. “With ice or without?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he rested his hand again on her knee. “This one you have to actually use your words for, Tilly. With ice or without?”

“With.” She lifted her head but didn’t open her eyes yet, lifted and cupped her hands to accept the glass. He slid the edges of the cool tumbler along his pant leg to remove the gathered condensation before pressing it against her waiting skin.

Tilly sighed.

“Feel good?”

“Yessss.” She hissed, pulling the glass up to press against her forehead and trail it down her cheek to her throat. Pike swallowed as he watched, focused on keeping his breathing even. Now was _not_ the time to get distracted. _Not a teenager. She’s sick. Not doing this to be sexy. You are better than this, Christopher Pike._

If only his body would listen.

Space. Chris needed space. He stood slowly, trying not to pull too much on his already overworked ribs or jostle the couch, and headed to the kitchenette. Flipping on the cold water, he wet a dishtowel as he called for ice from the replicator. He carried both back to the couch carefully, ice wrapped in the damp towel, making sure it wasn’t leaking before placing it against the back of her neck.

She moaned as the cold pressed against her. “Oh, sweet laws of physics, that’s feels so good.”

“Drink your water,” was all he managed to say.

Tilly drank.

Tilly drank the entire glass. Quickly.

Chris chuckled, and poured the unused second glass of water into her the now-empty first. “More slowly this time. Let’s not make things worse. Again.” Slits of blue eyes found him, finally, as tints of pink colored her cheeks and she mumbled an apology. Pike didn’t know he could be thankful to see someone blush from being told not to get sick, but here he was.

They sat quietly again, sipping their drinks. Pike continued his perusal of the woman—the _ensign_—sitting on the other end of his couch, looking away occasionally so he wasn’t just… staring at her, like a creep. Tilly mostly kept her eyes closed and leaned against the makeshift icepack against her neck.

“I… uh… I think I could try those crackers now.” Her voice was tinny, slightly hoarse. Very… un-Tilly-like. He frowned slightly and called to the replicator, which whirled into action immediately.

Hoping to keep her talking, Chris asked the first question that came to mind after collecting the crackers. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Her face scrunched up, and she slowly turned her body towards him. He schooled his face into something resembling neutral, which was difficult because of how adorable she was with her nose wrinkled and her eyebrows furrowed in shy hesitation.

“Well, I was… I was actually coming to check on you, Captain. Some job I did at that, eh?” She began to pick up speed as she talked, but it was still nowhere near her normal, bubbly self. “I guess I didn’t think about how the turbolift would make me feel, and got really dizzy and then that made me really nauseous, and then… well, you know what happened after that. Thanks, by the way, for letting me in so quickly. That doesn’t answer your question, though, does it?”

She huffs. He chuckles.

“I was coming to check on you. You were… you were so nice to me in sickbay. And I realized that you asked about me, you checked on me, but I didn’t do the same to you. I mean, I was kinda snarky at you, and offered to come have Saru lecture you which, looking back, is more threatening than therapeutic.” Tilly took a breath, met his gaze. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry, Captain. I came to check on you. Because you got blown up by a phaser and that has to be painful and I wasn’t sure if someone had checked on you, like you had checked on me. And then I got sick on you instead, so you had to take care of me.”

Chris’s eyes widened in surprise as she finished, his head tilted slightly to the right. It had been a long time since anyone, outside his XOs and CMOs, had come to check on him when he’d been injured.

“That… that’s very nice of you, Ensign. You really didn’t have to do that. Especially in your condition. But I do… appreciate it. I’m alright; Dr. Pollard fixed the worst of it. A little sore and bruised, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Pike tried to fix on his best Captain’s smile.

Tilly’s wrinkled nose smoothed out as she pulled her lips into a tight line, studying his face as he spoke. Her response was measured but emphatic. “She fixed the worst but not all of it? Which means you probably feel like shit. Rib injuries fucking hurt. You can’t stop breathing, yanno? So they just stay aggravated. So, _Captain_, try that again. How are you _really_ feeling?”

Pike’s carefully diplomatic smile transformed into something more genuine as he looked down at the cup of tea sitting in his lap. “You’re deceptively perceptive, Sylvia Tilly, even when you’re sick.” He looked up at her through his lashes, knowing it often threw women off kilter enough to allow a change in topic. To his surprise, the redhead at the other end of the couch leaned forward and looked unfazed.

“Your dimples are cute, and we both know how handsome you look when you look up like that. But you underestimate how stubborn and resistant to the adorable I can be. You still haven’t answered my question. How are you really feeling, Captain? Do you need me to get you anything? Or, at the very least, call for someone to bring you anything?”

“You’re definitely feeling better.”

“Answer the question or I’m calling Dr. Pollard.”

Chris’s eyebrow shot up.

“Don’t test me. I babysat all through high school. Starfleet captains have nothing on three-year olds.”

He hid his smile behind his cup as he took a sip, humming softly as he watched her.

“Computer, page Dr. Pollard to come to-“

“Computer, belay that. Nothing like a challenge to take your mind off yourself, eh? Fine. I’m in pain, but I’ve had worse. As long as I don’t move too quickly, or breathe too deeply, I’m okay. Satisfied?”

Tilly’s smile was a little watery, but he was happy to see it again. Happy to see it directed at him. “Barely satisfied. You didn’t address my last question: what can I do to help?”

Taking a moment to consider, he schooled his features to be very serious and leaned towards her. Her eyes widened in alarm and she leaned forward to mirror him. His voice was solemn and low when he spoke. “When you come to my quarters, or we meet outside of duty, call me Chris.”

Tilly’s mouth dropped open, a soundless gasp. She whacked him (weak as it may be) across his shoulder—surprising them both—before bursting out into actual laughter, the tension in the room breaking like porcelain in a Klingon’s hand. “Ow! No attacking the man who just sacrificed himself on a phaser!”

“I’m sorry, but… yanno what, I’m not actually sorry. Serves you right. Making me think there was something seriously wrong." She surprised him once again, placing her hand lightly on his forearm as she continued. "I’m… I’m not sure how long it will take me to be okay with calling my Captain by his first name, though. But, in the spirit of reciprocity… you can call me Tilly, or Syl if you’d prefer to use my first name.”

Holding his hand out, Chris flashed a toothy grin at his new…friend… Syl when she confidently placed her hand in his and gave it a (moderately) firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Syl. How about some pain medicine for both of us, to celebrate?”


	4. Scared

Having a eukaryotic fungal organism pulled out of you was not for the faint of heart. Too bad it wasn’t her heart that was her problem, but her head. Again. Her heart was fine, Dr. Pollard assured the Captain, and her continued chest pains where the dark matter asteroid pulled against her until the creature—May? Is that what she called it?—finally sprang from her body was normal. Her clutching her chest with every heavy breath shouldn’t alarm him, he was assured and reassured.

Apparently having a sentient fungus forcefully removed via dark matter gravitational extraction can scramble your brain a bit, though.

For the second time in as not-enough days, Captain Christopher Pike looked down at a medicated Tilly, resting with her eyes closed on the biobed. He’d turned down the overhead lights when she flinched away from him as he’d greeted her.

Her flinching away from him didn’t set well with him, not at all.

Dimming the lights down helped. She mumbled a soft thank you as she turned towards him on the bed, and he felt the knot deep in his chest loosen just a bit. “Lights bad,” she muttered, followed by a series of emphatic but unintelligible murmurings.

“Lights bad.” He agreed softly. “You gave me… us quite a scare there, Ensign.”

Tilly responded in what could only be assumed as the affirmative, based on the higher pitched tones of her mumbling. But that wasn't what got Chris’s attention.

No, Chris's eyes, his nerve endings, what bits of sanity he had left, the entire focus of his mind and body coalesced at his right hand. As Tilly mumbled incoherently at him, she sneaked her hand out to rest across his, her thumb wrapping around his inner wrist before she started a gentle sweep in time with her breathing.

He didn't know how long he stood there, physically still but mentally caught in a hurricane of what this could mean. What this could do. Repercussions. Implications. Everything that could go wrong, for both of them. Not just broken hearts, but broken careers, broken lives.

Christopher Pike. Fifteen years her senior and the Captain of this ship—these two ships. She had her entire life ahead of her, and he couldn't take that away from her. He wouldn't.

Sylvia Tilly deserved better.

She deserved someone as vibrant and brilliant as her. Someone who wouldn't have to ask her to risk her life's dream on something that, given his track record, was a guaranteed failure. Someone who wouldn't ask her to hide what they have “until they knew more.” Someone she wouldn't risk losing on an away mission gone sideways, a first contact gone wrong, a fit of his own ego and pride. Someone unburdened.

Someone safe, and happy.

Someone, not Christopher Pike.

Staring at their hands, feeling her soft skin tug against his as she shuffled to a more comfortable position without losing contact, he felt the sorrow set deep in his bones. For what could be, if only it were a different time, a different place. He memorized the difference in their skin tones, obvious in such intimate contact—hers with a peachy pink undertone, porcelain white, soft, the strawberry blonde hair he never saw under her uniform sleeves barely visible across her arms; his a darker olive undertone, freckles and callouses only highlighting the lines of wear from years of working with his hands, the hairs dark and abrasive and beginning to be scattered with gray.

Sylvia deserved someone closer to her age. Closer to her brilliance and light. Closer to… just closer to her, in all the ways he knew he wasn't and was unsure he could ever be.

With his decision made, Chris leaned down over her one last time, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, the faint smell of vanilla and citrus that haunted his seating area for hours after she left, cementing it into his mind, his memories.

He brushed a quick kiss against her cheek before whispering to her. “Rest now, Ensign. You'll be okay. They'll take care of you.”

“You…” she mumbled quietly, the rest of her sentence lost to the sedating effects of whatever medication she was under. When he tried to gently remove his wrist from her grasp, she tightened her fingers around his wrist, unwilling to let him go, her breaths speeding up on the monitor even as she whispered to him. “Wait…”

Chris lingered until she settled again, burning into his memory the feeling of her thumb sweeping across the tendon inside his wrist, and when she finally slept, gently withdrew his hand from under hers.

He moved slowly towards the sickbay doors, knowing—feeling, despairing—the finality of his decision once he walked through them. He couldn't go back. Part of him searched desperately for any reason to stay, even if not by her bedside.

But there was nothing for him here. No other crew to check on. No unattended business. Not even a passing friendship with the CMO to catch up on.

The doors hadn't closed fully behind him when he heard alarms ringing while people shouted, and above them all a sound the froze him to his core: Tilly’s screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*


	5. Terror

Chris stayed frozen outside the door for only a few seconds, hearing the screaming stop only long enough for Tilly to take another breath and start again. His hand slammed into the emergency door release beside him, since he was too close to trigger the motion sensor again, and he barreled toward the bed where red curls whipped around the multitude of arms (and one pair of … tentacles, maybe?) trying to hold her still enough for the doctor to scan her.

“Dr. Pollard, what happened?” Chris stopped at the foot of the bed beside the doctor, trying to stay out of her way but close enough to talk without adding to the chaos of sound surrounding them.

“No! Please!” Tilly screamed, before flailing wildly again and releasing a series of wordless shrieks. No. No, they weren’t shrieks. They sounded more… desperate than a shriek. Like she was begging for something only she knew about. Like her heart, her entire body was being ripped to shred and she was begging for mercy.

“I don’t know, Captain. She was fine moments ago, you saw it for yourself. It seems to be… some kind of night terror, if I had to guess, since brain activity shows continued delta waves like we see right before REM sleep." The doctor’s voice modulated according to the noise level around her as she made her way around the bed to scan the young woman from that end. Her eyes never left her recorder, occasionally pressing buttons to change screens or start a different scan. "I don’t know what brought it on, since there's no history of them in her records, or if sedating her will improve it or make it worse. I need to run more tests to be sure, but that will be difficult with her current condition.”

As her voice trailed off, the medbay doors swished open, revealing Michael. She stood in the doorway, shock and disbelief writ large across her face before her jaw set and she beelined to stand near the head of the bed. “What is happening?” she demanded, as if they could try to keep the situation a secret from her.

“We don't know for sure, Commander.” The doctor replied brusquely. "It appears Ensign Tilly is having a night terror. Have you ever witnessed her having one before? Has she ever confided in you that she's had them?”

“No, no not at all.” Michael looked at her friend, fighting the staff trying to keep her from hurting herself or them, her own brows pulled together, her lips a tight line. “Can’t you give her a sedative?”

“Gave her one a bit earlier to help her sleep. Need to figure out if that triggered this episode or if it’s something else.”

“What about something to wake her up then?”

Dr. Pollard's face remained neutral, but Chris didn't miss the tightening around her eyes, the slight turn of her lips as she studies her tricorder. “Given the last few days, waking her up suddenly from this poses as many risks as letting it continue, maybe more. Especially since we don’t know why she's having it.”

A host of emotions flitted across Michael’s face as she watched Tilly struggle, flinching at a particular shrill cry before finally settling on a look of determination. She scooted around one of the staff holding Tilly’s shoulder, pushing her way in until she was close enough to hold Tilly's hair loosely to keep from being whipped by the loose curls.

“Tilly.” Michael’s voice was quiet, calm despite the chaos around her. Very Vulcan. Pike could only make out some of what she was saying over the din of noise surrounding them. “—need -- -- okay --- medbay-- -- --Michael -- --please – wake – calm --"

The young woman on the bed was losing steam, stopping her thrashing for a few seconds to pant fresh air back into her lungs before starting again. Each episode of thrashing was getting shorter and panting getting longer, but she wasn't done yet. She wasn't waking up or calming down. Even as she panted, she whimpered and whispered softly to herself.

Pike’s heart broke, for the second time in one day, but this time the pain spurred him into action. 

When one of the staff's grip slipped, hands sweaty from –heavens, how long had it been since she had started screaming? Minutes? Hours?—holding an equally sweaty young woman, Pike helped her back and took her spot, one hand gripping as gently above Tilly's elbow as possible, the other going to her wrist. He nodded once at Burnham, indicating she should keep talking. Without thinking, Pike began a methodical sweep of the inside of Tilly's wrist, just as she had done his not too long before. Michael talked softly to her as Pike pressed his thumb more firmly against her inner wrist and matched his movements to her breathing, then trying to slow them both down. As they continued, Tilly’s twists and lunges slowed, though she was whimpering more.

Finally, Tilly stilled, but the soft, pained noises and whispered half-sentences continued. One by one, the medical staff had released her as her thrashing became less frequent and intense. The Captain nodded and murmured his thanks to each of them for their help as they left. The last one remaining held Tilly's other wrist carefully against her side.

When the doctor indicated she could leave her station, Chris reached for Tilly’s other hand. Chris rested his forearm lightly on Tilly's stomach, praying she wouldn't see it as an invasion of her space but as the most comfortable place for her otherwise lifeless arm, and spoke with a confidence he didn't feel. “Place her hand across my wrist, please.” The crewman looked hesitant at first, but with the Captain’s nod and a flick of his wrist, lifted Tilly's arm across her body. “Right, yes, like that, so that my hand is supporting her wrist as well, good. Thank you, Nurse Freeman, for all your help.”

Chris's heart tripped when Tilly’s arms began to tighten up beneath his hands, willing her to not have another fit requiring so many people to hold her down, but she only gripped him harder and used his stability to turn onto her side. He exhaled, sharp and long, before slumping over and resting his head on the edge of the biobed, when he felt her thumb begin a slow pattern, matching his, across his wrist.

Michael had stopped talking by now, just hovering by Tilly’s head occasionally whispering to her to wake up or other platitudes when she would begin to whimper or mumble again. She tilted her head, studying Chris more closely than he was necessarily comfortable with right now. Her Captain's obvious show of relief, especially when she couldn’t see any major change in behavior, was taken as unusual, if he was reading her facial expressions right. Oh, and she wanted an explanation. Pike just shook his head once, hoping Michael understood his implication. _Later._

Time became meaningless again as the Dr. Pollard, now joined by Mr. Stamets, moved around him to scan and rescan and scan Tilly again. Michael disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with a chair (much more comfortable than the last sickbay chair he'd been offered, or maybe he just felt better) and situating it behind him so he could sit without losing contact with Tilly, before disappearing again.

He'd never been in a trance, but as his vision narrowed to unruly curls of fire and red eyelashes fluttering against pale skin while he prayed to see blue eyes again soon… he imagined this is what it felt like. The world around him fuzzy except for him, her, and the rhythm created from their breathing, their heartbeats, their fingers pressing against one another’s skin.

“Captain.” Mr. Stamet's hand rested light and warm against his shoulder. It should have been startling; instead, it took Chris a few minutes to pull his attention back into the present and focus on the man beside him. When Pike finally made eye contact, the engineer continued. “The good news is that it doesn't seem to be a medication reaction, at least not to the sedative, or caused by the any remnants the fungal organism that might have been left that her body is still clearing. The bad news is we don't really know what caused it, or if it will happen again, or how bad it will be if it does.”

“What do you recommend, Doctor?”

A simple question, well within the bounds of questions for a captain to ask about his obviously hurt subordinate.

Dr. Pollard stood behind a console near the middle of the room, but came to stand across Tillly's bed from him. “She shouldn't be alone for the next few nights, at least. We can keep her here in sickbay, but it's hard to know how she'll respond to waking up here after such an extended episode. It would be best if she could be in her quarters, around familiar things, so waking up seems more normal. Commander Burnham went back to duty, so we would need to clear it with her that she was comfortable caring for Ensign Tilly if another episode occurs. Otherwise, she may have no choice but to stay here.”

It was Chris’s job to know, to do, what was best for his crew, by whatever means necessary. That’s what he told himself, at least, when he looked back at what would become a pivotal moment in his life.

“She can stay in my guest quarters.”

Mr. Stamets, ever the professional, raised a single eyebrow at his Captain. Dr. Pollard raised both.

“I'm off duty for the night." Chris rushed to explain. "I can watch over her, in case it happens again. I'll take a hypospray with sedatives just in case, and her vitals can be under constant monitoring here in sickbay. That way the Commander’s duty shift doesn't have to get coverage and she can get a decent night sleep. I don't go in until beta shift tomorrow, so she can take over watch duties then, if needed.”

Pike ignored the tiny twist up of Pollard's lips. “As you wish, Captain. I'll prepare for a hypo for you with multiple doses, just in case, and program your replicator for a combination pain medication and sedative that can be given every three hours.

“Thank you, Doctor. Is it safe to take her ho… back now or do we need to wait?”

The doctor glanced at the monitoring equipment as the hypo cartridge filled, pressing a few buttons and setting parameters. Once the cartridge fill beeped, she pushed it into a fresh injector and placed it in Pike's jacket pocket. “I’ve set the computer to alert us for any wildly abnormal vitals, and to let us know when she wakes up and falls asleep again. I'll check on you both throughout the night, but call me if you need anything.”

She rested her hand comfortingly on Chris's forearm, pulling his attention back to her from where it had drifted towards the ensign again. “I think the episode took a lot out of her, so she’s likely to sleep most of the night. If she does wake up, try to get her to eat and drink. If she remembers anything, she can write it down or log it for us; it may help figure out what triggered it, in case it happens again. If you're truly comfortable with this, then you are free to take her back to your quarters now.”

Captain Christopher Pike looked over at Tilly, wondering how he got here and what he was going to do about it now. But he wasn't going to back out now. He couldn't. He'd tried that, and apparently the universe decided to veto his plan in the most obnoxious, and possibly traumatic for Tilly, fashion.

“Would you like help getting her up, Captain?” Mr. Stamets asked kindly from beside him. _He must think my look of puzzlement is over how to get her back to my quarters. Ah, if only._

“No, Mr. Stamets, but I will ask that you clear everyone non-essential out of sickbay please. You and Dr. Pollard, and anyone she deems necessary, may stay.” He waited, carefully slowing the rhythm of his thumb against Tilly's wrist until his thumb was still against her pulse, while everyone cleared out.

All that remained was himself, Tilly, Mr. Stamets, and Dr. Pollard. He gave them both meaningful looks. “I trust both of your discretion in this matter. Dr. Pollard, I also trust the discretion of your staff. If I hear of this incident being discussed at all outside of need to know proper channels, there will be hell to pay. We are a family. We take care of our own, without unnecessary gossip. Be sure that message is passed along.”

Half-smiling at them both, he dropped the Captain's façade for a moment. “And thank you both for taking care of all of us. We’re in unknown territory everywhere these days and I know we're all doing our best. I appreciate you both more than you know.”

Stamets and Pollard both nodded at him with faint smiles on their faces, their wordless agreement and acceptance of both his orders and his praise.

With that, he turned back to Tilly and leaned over until he was speaking directly into her ear.

“Alright, Syl, here's the deal. We've got to get you back to my quarters. Your options are wake up now or I'm going to have to do something drastic, like carry you.” He paused a beat, but the redhead showed no signs of waking. “Alright, sweetheart, carrying is fine. But I need my arms for that, and therefore my wrists. I'm going to keep talking to you and move them one at a time. I'm not going anywhere, you're okay. I'm just going to lift you up so we can transport back to my quarters, okay?”

He kept murmuring to her, moving slowly to remove his hand from around her wrist and place it under her knees. It took more time to remove his wrist from her grasp, but he was eventually successful after only setting off alarms twice. That arm went behind her shoulders to cradle her upper body against his.

“Here we go, sweetheart, I'm going to curl you up against me first and then pick you up, okay? Don’t flail on me or you might break my hips. You know how old I am.”

With great care and some steadying hands to help get her tucked against him, he finally moved away from the biobed. He nodded at Mr. Stamets, who had done some engineering hocus pocus while he worked and pulled site-to-site controls into a medbay console. Sterility disappeared into a stream of blue and his sitting room appeared around them.

Tilly's weight was steady against him, her breath soft little puffs with the occasional snore or sniffle. Carefully, he carried her to his bedroom and placed her onto the left side of his bed, diligent not to pull her hair as he disentangled himself.

He wondered if anyone else in sickbay, besides Mr. Stamets, realized he didn't actually have guest quarters in the captain's suite.


End file.
